


not to me, not if it's you

by sunarists



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, John Murphy-centric (The 100), Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Memories, Nightmares, POV John Murphy (The 100), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ten Years Later, The 100 (TV) Season 5, implied - Freeform, read note!!, the ontari thing, the other ships are only mentioned, this is murphamy centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunarists/pseuds/sunarists
Summary: murphy and bellamy wake up from a frozen slumber three years too early as they wait for earth to grow once again.they take care of each other- they have a tendency to do that.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy, Echo/Emori (The 100), Monty Green/Harper McIntyre
Comments: 10
Kudos: 158





	not to me, not if it's you

**Author's Note:**

> in this au- earth actually goes back to being green like it was supposed to and monty and harper actually go to sleep w the rest of them for the purposes of the plot. sanctum who? planet alpha where?
> 
> a lot of fics have bellamy taking care of murphy and a lil bit of murphy taking care of bellamy so i thought it would be fun to see murphy taking care of bellamy and a lil bit of bellamy taking care of murphy okay tldr they take care of each other bc thats love bitch!
> 
> warnings; mentioned past dubious consent when murphy talks about ontari with implied sexual content right after (there is a time skip), use of alcohol, mentioned past torture and canon compliant violence. none of this goes too much into depth, but read only if you’re comfortable! i promise this story isn’t as dark as it sounds :/

_Day 1_

Murphy sits on the Eligius main deck, staring blankly at the calendar on one of the large monitors sitting on the operations table. 

The year is 2163. Shallow Valley was destroyed at the hand of humankind seven years ago, the last habitable place on Earth. 

Earth, that wouldn't be survivable for another three years.

He's awake too early. He's awake _too fucking early._

A panicked sweep of the cryochamber hall, where he passes by Emori, Raven, Bellamy, Monty Harper Clarke MillerMadiGaiaKaneAbby in a blur- his chamber is the only open one, defrosting just as quickly as it had froze all those years ago. 

It felt like yesterday. 

Murphy looks over the large window on the main deck, where Earth seems to glow. It's not the yellow, blackened wasteland they'd left it, but it's definitely not green enough for Murphy's breaths to even out again. 

* * *

_Day 2_

He knows Monty brought some still on Eligius- he _has_ to have had. Monty had set up the algae farms, checked the oxygenators, looked at the electric supply before he had been put to sleep- one of the last to knock out, Murphy would guess. 

The ship echoes with every movement he makes, the only noise the constant hum of machinery and wires buzzing in the walls. It surprises Murphy, how unusual it sounds, even when he'd grown up on the Ark, lived on a floating scrap of metal in the sky long before he touched down onto the soft peat of the Earth and learned to survive it. 

"Fuck!" Murphy shrieks, coming up empty after his seventh- eighth? Ninth search? He doesn't know how many time he's walked around the empty ship, naïvely hoping that he and Monty's algae weren't the only awakened life on it. 

* * *

_Day 5_

His beard is growing out- he doesn't bother shaving. Why should he? Nobody here to see him, except himself, when he catches his haggard appearance in the reflections of the windows. It makes him cringe, and he rubs his hand over his messy stubble, hesitant. 

Murphy spends his time on the main deck, watching Earth numbly, his days blurring into seconds, minutes, hours? He chooses not to look at the clock- it's only a reminder of how much longer he'll live like this.

Occasionally, he steps into the cryochambers. He's tried getting back in many a time, waiting for the ice to freeze him over and for him to succumb to the clutches of sleep, his heart rate slowing to the speed of molasses. It never comes, and each time, he explodes out of his chamber with a wild card emotion. He'll shriek, he'll curse, he'll fall to his knees and _crumble._

Murphy's _been_ alone. He was alone as soon as Clarke and Bellamy had banished him from the dropship, he had been alone when the Grounders had thrown him to the cage, he had been alone in the bunker that belonged to the man who ended the world, alone alone _alone._

Sitting there on the silent deck, angrily shoving all thoughts of Bellamy Blake and Clarke and everybody that was still asleep out of his head, Murphy realises that at least then, there had been a voice to banish him, a man to throw him in the cage, a video log to empathise with. 

There was _alone,_ and there was _lonely._

"It's okay." Murphy mumbles to himself pathetically, slumping into the large captain's chair. "I'll survive this. I _always_ survive." 

* * *

_Day 7_

It would be so easy to just _press a button-_ someone would wake up, Murphy could blame the same technological error that had awoken him, and he wouldn't be so _fucking_ lonely. He has no qualms against lying- he dropped his morals somewhere many a year ago, left behind and forgotten in a place it could never be found.

His fingers dance gently over Emori's button, his heart pounding out of his chest almost painfully. 

It would be so _easy._ He'd be alone with one of the best friends he'd ever had, and they'd survive- hell, they'd _live._

Just like the old times. 

One look at Emori's face, so peaceful, her delicate blue tattoo curling over a relaxed forehead, and Murphy yanks his hand back from the button like it burned him. 

Damn him. Damn the crumbled walls around his heart, broken with time and healing. 

He'd _like_ to think he'd lost his morals. It would make being John Murphy so much easier.

Absently, Murphy thinks that Bellamy should never have put him in charge of the stupid wall around the dropship. 

* * *

_Day 9_

Murphy's so sick of being stuck with his thoughts. His memories plague him during his attempts to sleep, so he stays awake, delusional and exhausted as he traipses the halls for the sake of it. He sometimes falls to his knees, in a wave of tiredness, trying to clear his head of the buzzing in his skull. 

Maybe he gives in, when he sits at the hospital wing- if sleeping is good for anything, it's good for killing time. 

* * *

_Day 11_

_"Murphy?" Bellamy whispers. The elevator in Polis- Murphy smashes his foot against a Grounder's face, not feeling bad about it in the slightest. If ALIE is all that she says she is, he wouldn't even realise it if he was decapitated. "What are you doing here?"_

_"You're not the only one trying to save someone you care about." Murphy's tempted to spit at Bellamy's shoes- Bellamy, who he'd looked at like a god, after they'd left that dropship._

_Bellamy who guided him around the camp with a hand on the small of his back, whispering about his plans, his voice oozing with ambition. Bellamy, who'd guided his hand as Murphy learned to throw a knife, who'd nudged his legs open to fix his stance and sent a chill up Murphy's spine. Bellamy, who'd slept curled around Murphy's smaller form on the stressful nights of their early days on the Ground._

_Bellamy, a friend._

_Bellamy, who kicked the crate._

_Murphy's words seem to slap him in the face, his normally stoic figure flinching, and Murphy knows._

_He meant something to the great Bellamy Blake._

* * *

_Day 12_

" _I'm sorry."_

_Bellamy and Murphy sit alone, on the windowsill of the Ring, nursing a bottle of Monty's oldest still._

_Murphy knows what he's talking about. Bellamy knows Murphy knows. Murphy knows that Bellamy knows that Murphy knows._

_"I hung you." Murphy shrugs, the alcohol flowing down his throat, easy like water. "We're even."_

_"I hung you first."_

_"We're not competing." Murphy grumbles. "You hung me, I hung you, I betrayed the camp, brought back a disease, killed two people, robbed a few Grounders and pretended to be Ontari's flamekeeper. You orchestrated a painful genocide at Mount Weather and on the Ark. Oh! And you shot Jaha. It'd be a tie- look at us, being awful people together!_ "

_Bellamy snorts at Murphy's lack of tact, but remains unsurprised. "Quit flirting with me, Murphy. Just because Echo and Emori are sleeping together now... let a man mourn."_

_Murphy chuckles over he rim of the bottle. "We're pathetic."_

_Silence, for a minute, then two. It's not awkward- they've lived with each other too long for it to be anything but comfortable._

_"For what it's worth." Murphy whispers. "I'm sorry too."_

* * *

_Day 13_

_"I'll cover you!"_

_Murphy's voice barely rings clear above the constant_ noise- _the bullets and screaming and exploding. Bellamy's ready to protest, ready to pull him back into the rover, but it's too late. Murphy's shooting, pressing his finger against the trigger._

 _Fire, suddenly. It burns through his shoulder, yet he stays, growling as his bullets hit their mark. The adrenaline buzzes through his bloodstream- being on the Ground again is being_ alive. _Even if it means getting shot, even if it means fighting to live._

_Again. He's shot again, and finally Emori pulls him back in._

_"You fucking idiot." She curses at him. "Ugh, could you go back to survival mode, please?"_

_Murphy snorts, wincing at how the blood is pulsing out of his shoulder. "I'm almost perfect- I needed to give you a reason to break up with me."_

_Emori shoots him an amused smile, before continuing her frenzied tinkering with the Rover. In the corner of his eye, he sees Bellamy behind the rock, his freckled face smeared with dirt and Echo's warpaint._

* * *

_Day 15_

Murphy wonders how Clarke did it. How Clarke survived before she met Madi, the only other person on Earth. How she survived the wasteland, the crippling heat, before she found Eden.

So close to the bunker.

( _Even after the Tower had collapsed onto it)_

So close to the rocket.

( _Someone had to do it, had to stay behind)_

But never close enough. 

* * *

_Day 23_

A click. A slide. 

Murphy's never run this fast, scrambling to the cryochambers. Is it a delusion? Has he really gone insane, after only three weeks of keeping himself company?

"No." He breathes, standing dumbly at the end of the hall as he sees a chamber stretch out on the other end. 

Black, curly hair. A tight fitting shirt, freckled arms folded over his chest. Murphy's walked this hall enough to know exactly who it is. 

He had sometimes dreamed, maybe, that Emori would wake up early, maybe Raven, hell, even _Echo_ , and keep him company for the three years ahead, but almost every time, he let himself want Bellamy. It was purely selfish, and it embarrassed Murphy from the tips of his spiky hair, now growing long, to his curling toes. 

" _No."_ He breathes again, closing his eyes, willing it to go away. He needs to sleep, or drink more water, even feed himself some of Monty's stupid algae- do something to get rid of this hallucination-

"Murphy?" A deep voice rolls through the room, confused. Murphy wants to sob, hearing another voice, a _real_ voice. 

He lets a tear roll down his face, and he scrubs it away quickly- Bellamy can see it, Murphy knows, but thankfully doesn't say a word.

"What's going on?" Bellamy asks softly, getting up and walking- he stumbles, slightly clumsy, but what did he expect, after seven years on his back? "Clarke and I were supposed to wake up first." 

"Beat you to it." Murphy says, sniffling a little. Ugh- this was _humiliating._ "Here's the deal..."

* * *

_Day 25_

Bellamy takes the news surprisingly well. Murphy supposes, after all, Bellamy wasn't alone. He's adaptable.

"How long have you been awake?" Bellamy had whispered, his eyes widened, shocked. Murphy had first shown him the date, explained how he'd woken up, how he didn't know why. 

Murphy had pointed to the wall- 23 tallies scratched into the wall, for 23 days. Bellamy breathed a sigh of relief; Murphy supposed he should’ve, too- it's not a month, not a year, it's _fine._

Now, on day 25, Bellamy's attempted looking at the tech, trying to see what went wrong, and came out of it looking lost and just as frustrated as Murphy had felt when he'd tried. Bellamy spends his time doing every single thing Murphy had thought of doing, to try and fix _this,_ whatever it was. 

"Raven would know what do to." Bellamy sighs- he pulls up another chair to the main deck after Murphy's sole claim on the captain's seat. 

"Why don't you wake her up and ask her?" Murphy entertains, kicking his feet up onto the operations table. 

Bellamy looks at him pointedly, and his eyes tell Murphy all he needs to know. 

They won't risk it- won't risk waking someone else up. They'll bear it, so the rest don't have to.

* * *

_Day 40_

"Quit it- _Murphy,_ quit it!" 

"You are _boring,_ Bellamy Blake." Murphy snips- it's just an excuse to say his name. He likes how it rolls off the tongue, soft and easy. _Bellamy Blake._ It was a handsome name, for a handsome man, with a handsome personality. 

They're in the med bay, taking stock of the medicine. Bellamy counts, writes it down, and organises is it while Murphy watches from a bed, occasionally piping up with a snide remark or a comment about the pills.

"I'm _sorry_ that I don't want you to switch the labels on the _medicine."_ Bellamy sounds alarmed. "Aren't you supposed to be a doctor?" 

Murphy snorts. "Wow, I trained with Abby for like, two weeks, and listened to Clarke when I brought that virus to the dropship, and now I'm a _doctor?_ Keep the bar high, Blake." 

Bellamy rolls his eyes, a quiet smile playing at his lips. "That's doctor enough for the Ground. Even _then_ you shouldn't switch medicine labels." 

Murphy rubs his hands together. "It's like- what's that Old World game- Russian roulette? Get a fun little surprise every time you dip into the cabinets." 

Bellamy flicks him, and continues on with his work, not sparing him a second glance. Murphy hides the faint disappointment eating at him- he's not sure why it's there, and he doesn't care enough to think about it. 

"What was it like, the first twenty-three days?" 

It's not the first time Bellamy's asked. He seems desperately curious, as to how Murphy handled it, believing he would be alone for the three years to come before Earth was once habitable. 

Murphy had continually shrugged it off, snapped at him to fuck off, but Bellamy persisted, the undeniable stubborn quality that had come with him from the Ark that had never really left. 

"Please?" 

Ugh. 

Murphy always found it difficult, saying no to Bellamy. 

"It was lonely, okay? I was _lonely_." He snaps, crossing his arms and glaring at the ceiling, avoiding the figure who had finally stopped rummaging to listen to him. "It only really hit me after a few days, that I was gonna be alone for three whole years. I-" His voice cracks a little, just a _little._ "-I was really tempted, Bell, I won't lie. It would've been the easiest thing in the world, to press a button- wake up Emori, or Harper or Echo- but I couldn't do it." 

"The days started to kind of blur together- I didn't like looking at the clock, so I kind of just guessed, then tallied. I looked for the booze, got pissed when I couldn't find it. I tried to go back in the chamber, got pissed when I couldn't. Tried talking to everyone, got pissed when nobody talked back." 

"Did you want to wake me?" Bellamy blurts. He smacks his hand over his mouth, eyes widening. "Sorry!" He mumbles from behind his hand.

Murphy cocks his head to the side at the sight. The confident Bellamy Blake, faltering? 

Murphy wants to think about the implications of it all, but it makes his head spin in circles. He tucks it away into the corner of his mind, something to pore and ponder over on a later date.

"Yeah." Murphy admits. "A couple times." 

More like a couple _hundred._ But Murphy's a good liar. A good actor. 

It keeps him alive.

* * *

_Day 62_

A scream. It echoes through the empty ship, and Murphy jerks up from where he was about to fall asleep, ready to cover his mouth and wait out his pounding heart. 

The scream isn't his. 

Murphy finds himself sliding through into the main deck, Bellamy's favourite haunt. There, lying on one of the larger chairs, he's shaking, still caught in the clutches a nightmare. 

"Bellamy!" Murphy hisses, grabbing Bellamy by the shoulders. " _Bellamy, wake up!"_

The older man flinches, his eyes flying open as he grabs Murphy and _throws_ him to the cold floor of the ship. 

"Let me _out!"_ Bellamy cries out, and Murphy, still dazed from his face striking the ground, realises that Bellamy's not thinking straight. His eyes are frenzied, his words slurred, and in all of Murphy's years of knowing Bellamy, fighting against and with Bellamy, he's never heard him this _scared._ "Let me out of this goddamn _mountain!"_

Mount Weather. Murphy hadn't actually _been_ there- but they'd talked about it on the Ring. Echo, Bellamy and Monty, thrown in cages, while Harper told them of Jasper's revolt. The mass genocide, a people vanquished.

A girl named Maya. 

It went unspoken, but Murphy thinks it's one of Bellamy's unforgettable regrets.

"Bellamy!" Murphy grabs his arms, the arms that are pinning him to the floor. "It's me! _Murphy!"_

"I'm _sorry,_ Jasper." Bellamy's whimpering, as he rolls off of Murphy, curling into the floor. He looks so _small-_ scared and _young,_ like it had been in the beginning, back when there were a hundred kids in a dropship buried in the dirt like a grave. "I didn't want her to _die."_

"Bellamy, wake up." Murphy shakes him, grabbing him and holding him tightly, desperate and uncontrolled. "Wake up!" 

He flinches, in Murphy's hold- he gasps for air, and Murphy tentatively hopes he might be awake. 

"You with me?" Murphy mumbles. Bellamy nods, breathing heavily. Against his chest, he feels Bellamy's chest rise and fall rapidly, in, out, in, out. 

"I'm sorry." Bellamy coughs out, resting his head on Murphy's shoulder. He's apologising for more than tossing Murphy on the floor- he's apologising to Maya, to Jasper, to the innocents that saved them in Mount Weather, to Octavia, to Lincoln, to Lexa, to Clarke, to Luna, to Roan- 

It's endless, the list, like all of theirs are. Survival isn't pretty- Murphy's long accepted it, and he hopes Bellamy will too.

"It's okay." Murphy says anyways, to ease his mind. "It's okay. _Breathe."_

And there they sit, the two of them alone on the deck floor, their friends sleeping peacefully only metres away, floating through the sky. If Murphy feels tears roll off of Bellamy's face and onto his shirt, he doesn't mention it. 

* * *

_Day 63_

"There are like, ten beds in Med Bay, Bellamy, just pick one." Murphy scowls. "I'm not giving you a choice." 

"Since when do you give orders?" Bellamy mutters- it's almost childish, but Murphy lets it slide. After all, Murphy saw a side of Bellamy he wasn't sure anyone had ever gotten to see before- it was like intruding on something private, something that wasn't supposed to be the light of day. 

"Since I woke up first, making this _my_ ship." Murphy says pompously. "Move your shit there, or I won't eat." 

_Help me help you._ Aggressive, so very _Murphy,_ but the sentiment is there.

Bellamy frowns, and Murphy knows he hit a nerve. Bellamy had always made sure they all got their fill of algae when they'd lived on the Ring.

* * *

_Day 72_

"Murphy!" 

His name rings from the other end of the ship, the deep voice bouncing off the metal walls and sounding tinny, but still so easily _Bellamy._ Murphy sighs, gets up from where he's looking at Old World newspapers about Diyoza and her crew, following the voice through the halls. 

"Where are you?" Murphy calls, looking crossly at the fork in the hall. 

"In here!" 

Murphy walks into a room to see Bellamy glaring at a vent that was sputtering loudly, something clearly wrong with it. 

"Don't you remember what happened with the ops table, like, three weeks ago?" Murphy sighs, folding his arms. "I'm _not_ a mechanic." 

"No, I'm not letting you near wires again." Bellamy snips. "There's something in the vent that's blocking it up- I can't reach it." 

Murphy yawns. "Is that what you made me come here for? To complain about your _height?"_

"What- no, _hey!"_ Bellamy scowls at him. "I'm average height."

"Yeah, with your boots on. Take them off, big guy, see how tall you are-" 

"Shut _up,_ Murphy." Bellamy interrupts exasperatedly, and Murphy lets a proud grin creep up his face. "I need you to get on my shoulders to look." 

Murphy balks. "You need me to wha- _no!_ I'll find you a ladder-" 

"You're already here." Bellamy demands. " _Please?"_

Murphy groans loudly. He's so, _so_ tempted to just spin on his heel and walk away. He'd leave if anyone else asked. 

Anyone else. 

_(Bellamy Blake isn't anyone else. It's pathetic, how he's held out for him since they fell from the sky)_

"I hate you." Murphy complains, rolling his sleeves up and waiting for Bellamy to lower himself. He clambers onto his shoulders with as much dignity as he can muster; it isn't much. 

"No you don't." Bellamy smirks, his voice cheeky. Murphy makes grabby-hands for the vent, flinching when Bellamy moves. 

"I could snap your neck with my legs right now." Murphy muses absently, unscrewing the vent. 

"I could just, you know, drop you." 

Murphy snorts. "And leave you all alone on this big old ship? You wouldn't." 

Bellamy sighs, accepting the grate that Murphy was handing him. 

"I wouldn't." 

Oh, that fluttery warm feeling in his stomach, spreading around his chest and up into his cheeks in a blush. 

Murphy reaches into the vent, expecting rodents, or something even more gruesome. Instead, he feels his face splitting into a grin as he feels cold, smooth glass, and he cranes his neck to look closer. Bottles, bottles, bottles.

Monty had some good hidey-holes on this ship, he'll give him that.

"Jackpot." Murphy cheers, handing Bellamy a bottle of Monty and Jasper's famous Unity Day brew. Bellamy looks at it stupidly, before he's looking up at Murphy with a smile of his own. 

It's nice, being helpful, Murphy thinks, as he hands down bottle after bottle of age-old booze, humming a drinking tune while Bellamy tapped his foot to the beat.

* * *

_Day 122_

The nightmares never really go away. They just become easier to deal with. 

Murphy finds himself tossing and turning most nights, the idea of falling asleep and reliving the hanging, the torture, _Ontari-_ hell, if he's lucky, he'll be plagued with _everything_ all in one night. He waits till he's so tired that his body can't even muster up the energy for a simple memory. It's painful, but effective.

Dreams are a funny thing, and time feels even funnier. The days with Bellamy go by in blinks- it's nighttime that really stretches on, the deafening silence and the horrible visions. 

Bellamy experiences his nightmares so _violently-_ shaking and gasping and screaming and crying and Murphy's heart breaks a little more every time. He'll jump up to wake him, sit by him until his breathing evens out again, thankful for an excuse to remain awake on those nights.

The amount of days between each incident get longer and longer, but they come back. 

They always come back. 

Tonight is just one of those nights- he can hear Bellamy's breathing, haggard and raspy on the other side of the med bay, and Murphy knows Bellamy's about to snap, wherever he is in that closed off mind of his. 

Murphy gets out of bed, his feet pattering against the icy floor, slipping into the Bellamy's "room"; four walls made of curtains, a hospital bed and a night table, where his radio and gun lay, glinting dangerously in the light filtering from outside. There, on the cot, Bellamy is shaking, his body twisted into foetal position underneath the thin, protocol white blankets as he murmurs under his breath, too quiet for Murphy to make out. 

"Bellamy." Murphy runs a hand through Bellamy's hair. "Bellamy, relax." 

The man eases awake after a jolt, his lashes fluttering slowly, blinking once, twice. Murphy allows him time to adjust, waits for his breathing to calm down. 

"Did I wake you up?" Bellamy croaks, his voice raspy with exhaustion and thick with emotion. "Sorry." 

"I was already awake." Murphy confesses- he's tired, he really is, but he's not brave enough to face sleep, not yet. He'll settle with calming Bellamy down, getting them through the night, every night, for the next three years. He sits on the edge of the night table, careful not to nudge the items on it

"You don't have to come help me every time, you know." Bellamy says, sounding frustrated. Murphy knows it’s not directed at him. "It's not your job. I'm supposed to-"

"-take care of me? Take care of everyone?" Murphy interrupts. "Why?" 

Bellamy sighs into his pillow, quiet as he looks for an answer. 

"I just do." 

Murphy rolls his eyes. Bellamy and Clarke seemed to share a bit of a hero-complex; it stemmed from a powerful need to help, clearly, but there was no denying that it existed- the need to be needed, the need to be useful. Being alone, just the two of them, was wearing on Bellamy in ways Murphy hadn't quite noticed until now. 

But he noticed now, and he silently prays that it’s good enough.

"We're not on the Ground anymore, Bellamy." Murphy murmurs, as gently as he can muster. It sounds unfamiliar, the kindness, coming out of his own mouth, rolling off his typically sharp tongue. "You're not in the Mountain. This isn't the Ring. Just you and me, a couple of guys floating in space." 

"Does any of that matter?" 

Murphy moves to seat himself on the edge of Bellamy's bed, running his hand through Bellamy's hair again. He hopes maybe he can get Bellamy to fall asleep again, peacefully, this time. 

"Let people take care of you, Bellamy Blake." Murphy mumbles. It's all too soft for his tastes, but he's only been truthful. Lying to Bellamy, no matter how good at it he is, is never easy. 

"It's rotten work." Bellamy mumbles- he's already half asleep, with Murphy combing through the knots of his curls, their breathing matching. 

"Not to me." Murphy whispers. "Not if it's you." 

Bellamy grabs at the hem of Murphy's shirt clumsily, tugging it gingerly. 

"Stay." 

Murphy's taken back to their first weeks after stepping off the Dropship; Bellamy, exhausted and scared and _trying his best,_ falling into Murphy's tent and rolling into his cot. Their years on the Ring, when Bellamy would slip into his bed and silently grieve for Clarke, for his sister, for all they'd lost. 

"Okay." Murphy whispers, and climbs onto the other side of the bed, crawling under the covers and letting Bellamy press against him. It feels natural, easy. 

Murphy still doesn't sleep, but he's at peace, listening to the soft snores of the calmed man next to him. 

* * *

_Day 236_

The two of them stand in the cryochamber hall, their fingers brushing the cases as they walk by, cold to the touch. Murphy watches as Bellamy pauses, ever-so-slightly at the sight of his sister, her face blurred in the cold fog trapped in the chamber. Octavia is far from the first girl that had stepped on the Ground, excited and wide-eyed and ready to take on the world- her now swollen muscles, scarred limbs and tattooed shoulder evidence of that. 

"I don't think it'll ever be the same, between me and her." Bellamy mumbles. It sounds more like an admittance of defeat than a confession, Bellamy mouthing it like a death wish. "It's my-" 

"It's _not."_ Murphy doesn't know how many times he has to say it- he supposes he'll repeat it forever, whenever Bellamy needs to hear it. "It's not your fault." 

"If I didn't work with Pike so closely- Lincoln's death could've-" 

"Should've, would've, could've." Murphy says fiercely, stalking towards Bellamy and smacking him softly. "It happened. She didn't _have_ to threaten her people and throw them into pits to, like, _kill_ each other. And _eat_ each other. She didn't _have_ to burn Monty's farm down and she didn't _have_ to go to war over the Valley. It was nothing more than a power show. But it happened. There's nothing to do about it other than go forwards." 

Bellamy looks at him strangely, a strike of- awe? Pride? Admiration? Something flashes over his face, gone as fast as it came. "How do you do that?" 

Murphy balks. "Do what?" 

"Just... just brush it off." Bellamy leans against Octavia's chamber, careful not to put his whole weight against it. 

"I don't." Murphy says simply. "I just think tomorrow is more important than yesterday." 

Bellamy smiles at him, softly, kind of sadly. "When did you get so wise, Murphy?" 

Murphy shrugs a little. "I've been alone." 

* * *

_Day 363_

"That't not an Azgeda move." Murphy pants from behind his sword, held high in a disciplined stance. He's proud to say he's picked up more than just a few moves from Echo, during his time on the Ring. Bellamy smirks at him, a little of his youthful cockiness showing again, as he swings his katana in circles. 

"Trikru, I think." He says, his voice turning sour. "Indra used it on me in the pits." 

Murphy whistles lowly, his eyes flicking over Bellamy's form, watching the subtle movements. "Went against Indra and came out alive? Tough stuff." 

Bellamy grins a little- Murphy's glad, to see him brighten up. "Quick learner." 

"Not as quick as me." Murphy slashes at Bellamy's feet, knocking him to the floor. "Even Echo said so." 

"That's because you always cheated." Bellamy chides, snickering at how that made Murphy gasp. 

"Take it back!" 

"No." His eyes glint, his demeanour full of pride. If Murphy closes his eyes, he can almost imagine they're back at the dropship camp, Bellamy throwing his hands into the sky as the crowd around him cheered, the man of the hour, the leader they'd always wanted. 

Murphy lunges again, but Bellamy twists away just in time, the knife catching on his shirt. Murphy sends him an innocent smile, tossing the blade up in the air, catching it by the handle with ease. 

"Could've killed me." Bellamy comments distractedly, no anger in his voice, but rather amusement, watching Murphy- not his form, but his face. Murphy hopes he's not blushing. 

"Nah." Murphy breathes. "You're kinda hard to keep down." 

* * *

_Day 425_

"John _Murphy_!" 

Bellamy's howl echoes through Eligius, ringing against the metal walls. Murphy winces at the use of his whole name. 

"I'm going to find you, Murphy, no point in hiding!" 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Murphy murmurs, steeling himself before exiting the med bay, where he'd reread the Old World magazines about Diyoza for the fifth time out of boredom. 

Bellamy is holding an empty bottle of still, glaring at Murphy. He's got on Murphy's old Farm Station pullover, that he'd nicked from the Go-Sci Station. 

"Why are you wearing my sweater?" Bellamy asks Murphy crossly, folding his arms. 

"Because you're wearing _mine."_ Murphy states, like it's obvious, looking at the too-long sleeves of Bellamy's Factory Station sweater. 

"Only because I couldn't find _mine."_ Bellamy snaps.

Murphy rolls his eyes at the man's crankiness, certainly stemming from overthinking once again, like he _always_ did. "I couldn't find _mine."_

Bellamy shakes the empty bottle at him. "Because you got drunk and left it on the ops table. What did I say about dipping into the still?" 

"No more drinking unless it's a special occasion." Murphy imitates him mockingly, a cheap impression of Bellamy's low-toned voice. 

"Ugh." Bellamy groans, scowling at him. "Now _I_ need a drink." He spins on his heel, storming away to dispose of the bottle. 

"Not a special occasion!" Murphy calls after him. He's pleased to note that Bellamy doesn't seem to have any intention of taking off Murphy's beloved sweater. He brings the sleeves of Bellamy's up to his face, relishing how the soft, worn fabric feels agains his face, and the scent of metal and fresh Earth air that seems to never quite go away, no matter how many times it's been washed.

* * *

_Day 473_

"Ever gonna tell me what's in that big head of yours, one day?" Murphy knocks gently on Bellamy's skull, who knocks away his hand half-heartedly. 

They're lying in bed, lazy and slow to get up, like they're used to now. Their limbs are tangled underneath the covers, and Bellamy grabs Murphy's hand, tracing the veins and tendons that show faintly under pale skin. 

It's moments like this, where Murphy aches for more. When he catches Bellamy's gaze for a moment too long. When they wake up with their faces inches apart. When Bellamy falls asleep on his shoulder, their fingers loosely intertwined. 

They're something. Murphy's just not sure what. 

He doesn't want it to go unspoken, like most things between them are.

"What do you mean?" Bellamy asks. Murphy knows that Bellamy knows what Murphy is talking about. 

Murphy lies on Bellamy's chest, propping his chin on top of his free hand.

"Tell me about your dreams." 

Bellamy freezes, underneath him, pausing the finger that's been dragging over the lines on Murphy's palm. He sighs, deeply, his chest rising and falling under Murphy's. 

"You really wanna know?" 

Murphy flicks him crankily. "We've lived together a year and a half, asshole." 

_(Don't you trust me?)_

Bellamy smiles, that crooked half-slant of his. "Ugh, woe is me." 

_(Yeah. Yeah, I do)_

He sighs again. "Alright. I don't really know what to say. There's a lot." 

Bellamy picks up Murphy's hand again, fidgeting and fiddling as he searches for the words. 

"Try." Murphy demands, gently. 

"Sometimes I'm on the Ark-" He begins, his nail dancing over Murphy's knuckles. "- and I'm watching myself let Octavia go to the dance. The dance that got her arrested, got my Mom floated, got me demoted. That was- I just wonder what my life would be like if I just kept her home." 

What a burden, it must be, feeling like he was the sole reason of his mother's death.

Murphy knows, he gets it, he's _been_ there. 

"There's also the Mountain." Bellamy continues softly, keeping his eyes on Murphy's hand. "Being in the cage, getting shot and fighting feels like _nothing._ I just see myself watching them die, all the Mountain Men. How Maya died in Jasper's arms. He never really forgave me for that, I don't think. Even when he said so, in the end. He was a good friend, and Maya was a good woman." 

Murphy never knew Maya, but he saw Jasper, after the Mountain. He saw how Monty grieved, on the Ring, every single day they passed up in the sky for six years.

Whoever Maya was, the memory of her _destroyed_ Jasper Jordan.

"The first days on the Ground." Bellamy voice trembles a little, but his eyes do not stop burning holes into Murphy's hand, Murphy's hand that he's holding like a lifeline. "I destroyed the radio, and they culled 300 people that could've lived. I hung you and watched a kid jump off a cliff. All because they gave me a little bit of power and I went a mile with it."

"I hung you after." Murphy says weakly- they've had this conversation before, too many times. "We're even, remember?" 

They let the silence thread between them, unable to speak on the subject more. Murphy doesn't know what to say, to all of Bellamy's burdens, but he hopes that listening to him talk about it is enough.

Bellamy continues to fiddle with Murphy's fingers, calloused and crooked, broken a hundred times over yet still healed today.

"Scary." Bellamy off-handedly comments. "I'm even with the infamous John Murphy." 

Murphy cuffs him around the head playfully, before settling to rest his head back down on Bellamy's chest, hearing his heart pace faster, ever-so-slightly.

* * *

_Day 540_

"Halfway there!" Murphy hollers, scratching another tally onto the wall with his knife. It's not the same knife, that had been there at the very beginning of this whole mess, but it was Murphy's knife. His _new_ knife. He quite liked it. 

"There's still two and a half days till we're officially halfway." Bellamy chides him, bumping him with his hip as he walks by. "Put on a sweater, you're gonna get cold." 

"I'm _rounding."_ Murphy sniffs. "They taught us that on the Ark. You should know, Mr. Guardsman." 

"Yeah, I know they taught us that on the Ark." Bellamy snorts. "In like, Grade _2_ _._ _Put on a sweater,_ I'm so sick of hearing you sneeze every morning-"

"We all had to start somewhere." Murphy shakes his knife at Bellamy threateningly, who throws a sweater at his head. "Oh, you are a _child."_

"Says the one who's _rounding."_ Bellamy blows a raspberry. "You are a grown man." 

"You just blew a raspberry at me!" Murphy cries out. "The big bad Bellamy Blake-"

Murphy is cut off with an embarrassing squeal, as Bellamy picks him up off the floor, throwing him over his shoulder like he's a bag of flour and not _a grown man._ He kicks at Bellamy's torso and pounds on his back, and ends up hurting himself more that the older man, who snickers quietly under his breath. 

"Where- are- you- _going?"_ Murphy pronounces every word with a smack on Bellamy's back, which he hopes stings sorely. "You _dick,_ I'm gonna-" 

"You're gonna what?" Bellamy asks innocently, still walking. "Hang me?" 

They're silent for a second, Murphy's head whirling as Bellamy walks towards med bay, where they slept on the end, the biggest bed next to the largest windowsill. 

A _joke?_ About the _hanging_?

"No." Murphy breaks into quiet laughter, which grows into louder cackles, until he's wheezing from his position propped on Bellamy's shoulder. "You'd get me first." 

Murphy can't really see Bellamy's face, but he _knows_ he's rolling his eyes, and the grip around his legs tighten, marginally, before he's deposited roughly on the bed without fanfare, bouncing up, then back down on the creaky bed. It makes Murphy's mouth dry up, that Bellamy can just pick him up and _toss_ him. 

"Ow." Murphy says dumbly, though it hadn't hurt at all. 

Bellamy crawls onto the bed next to him, the narrow hospital bed always a tight squeeze. They manage, like they do, every night, and shift until Murphy's lighter figure is half on top of Bellamy, his head resting comfortably on his shoulder. 

"We _can't_ fall asleep." Murphy commands. "We'll sleep all the way till tomorrow." 

"What's wrong with that?" Bellamy grumbles, already closing his eyes, tightening the arm that had been lying loosely around Muphy's waist. 

The younger brunet scowls. "Neither of us have showered in like, three days. You stink." 

Bellamy groans, holding Murphy down. Murphy half-heartedly attempts wiggling out- he could, if he wanted to, because he's _Murphy-_ wily and quick and cunning. No cage can keep him trapped too long, least of all Bellamy Blake's _arm,_ no matter how jacked he is. 

But he doesn't want to. 

They stay there, their breathing matching, chests falling up, down, up, down. 

"You ever wonder what it's gonna be like, when the rest of them wake up, and we're three years older?" Murphy asks quietly. Bellamy shakes his head, shrugging slightly. 

"Nothing'll change." Bellamy says simply. "Clarke will wake up and start worrying, Raven will figure out why we woke up, in three seconds, tops; Octavia and I won't speak-"

"- Emori and Echo will give each other a big ol' kiss." Murphy interjects, fond memories of his two friends floating through his head, cutting Bellamy off for his own sake. Bellamy giggles a little, forgetting what he was saying, childish and airy.

It's adorable. Murphy thinks _Bellamy Blake,_ who has a _body_ count of over a hundred, and not the good kind, is _adorable._

"Monty will wonder how we found his little hiding spot. Harper will tell him that it doesn't matter." Bellamy keeps going. "Monty will also wonder why we barely made a dent in the algae." 

"And I'll tell him it's because it tastes like shit." Murphy sighs. "Because it always has." 

"Gaia will probably pray." Bellamy comments. 

"She'll make Madi join her." Murphy can imagine it now- Gaia made a much better Fleimkepa than him. "We better not be waking up Diyoza. You should read the Old World papers. I thought _we_ were bad." 

Bellamy looks at him like he's stupid. "Duh." 

The starlight flows through the dark room, shining onto their little cot, washing Bellamy's tan face pale, his freckles looking as prominent as Murphy's ever seen them, dusting his cheekbones and nose harshly. There's a million, a million and one- Murphy would count them for the rest of time, if he could. 

"What are you staring at?" Bellamy scowls, turning red as he realises Murphy's attention is on him. Murphy rolls his eyes, doing his best to hide his embarrassment at being caught. 

"Nothing." He snarls, but it lacks menace. "None of your business." 

"Cranky." Bellamy pokes him in the ribs. "What were you looking at?" 

Murphy slaps Bellamy's hands away, reflexes he picked up from the Ground still handy as ever. "Your ugly mug. I was getting blinded." 

Bellamy's neck arches, thrown back with a loud laugh, the guffaws echoing through the med bay. His throat is bared to Murphy, no sign of stubble, clean-shaven and long, the curve of his throat catching Murphy's eye.

He gulps. 

"Liar." Bellamy finally stops snickering, folding his arms behind his head, resting on them. 

Murphy sniffs. "Yeah." 

Bellamy looks at him strangely- Murphy realises his blunder, cursing his absent mouth that ran a little faster than his mind, always had, always will. It was a gift and a curse, Murphy thinks woefully, watching as Bellamy's mouth parts in question. 

"Forget it." Murphy blurts, interrupting Bellamy before he even starts, and makes to get off the bed, an excuse on the tip of his tongue for his quick exit. It's no good- Bellamy and his stupid long arms snatch him back, and Murphy falls back down onto the cot with an " _oomph!"_

"You think I'm pretty!" Bellamy says dumbly, a slow grin spreading over his face. Murphy wants the a hole in the ship to swallow him up, suck the air out of his lungs. Anything would be better than listening to Bellamy Blake taunt him. 

"Shut up, I didn't _say_ that." Murphy snaps. "You're an egomaniac." 

"You think I'm pretty." Bellamy repeats again, his eyes looking kind of dazed. "You like my face." 

Murphy scoffs- there's no merit to his attitude, however, because the furious flush creeping up his neck is saying something else. "Don't play dumb, Blake. You know you're easy on the eyes- I said that only because you're not a hideously ugly monster, like I'm so used to seeing- you're lucky you don't look like the ugly Grounder that put me in a cage when I got banished, or I'd beat you to a pulp-" 

Bellamy sighs, fondly. "Shut up, Murphy." 

And Murphy has to shut up, because Bellamy's lips are on his, cutting him off. 

His brain short-circuits a bit. 

Bellamy Blake is _kissing_ him. Tender, soft, chaste.

Tasting faintly of the salty algae, a little of Monty's still, that _bastard._

_Whoa._

Time goes by like molasses, now. Murphy's not sure if it's been seconds or minutes, but he's always been a bit greedy- he wants _hours._

When Bellamy finally leans back, opening his eyes leisurely, easing back into the relaxed position he was just in, Murphy's tongue is still in knots, along with his stomach, his lungs and his heart. 

"Effective." Murphy mumbles, when he finally comes to. "Strange methodology-" 

"I'll do it again, if you don't be quiet." Bellamy snickers. "Anyways, about that shower..." 

Bellamy rolls off the cot, making his way towards the door. He pops his head in through the doorway, the cheeky beam on his face sending Murphy's heart into shakes. 

"... gonna join me?" 

* * *

_Day 541_

"All this time?" Murphy whispers. 

It's a mere one day, after Bellamy kissed Murphy, and they're laying in bed, as they do, curled around one another in a tight embrace. 

Murphy and Bellamy have always been MurphyandBellamy. One did not go without the other, their names exchanged on the same breath. It had been that way when they shared a bed in the tents littered around the dropship, it had been that way when they found solace in the familiarity of each other on the Ring, and it was going to be that way now. 

"All this time." Bellamy confirms quietly, rubbing light circles with his thumb against Murphy's knuckles, so rarely clear from bruises and cuts.

* * *

_Day 652_

"You never tell me why you can't sleep." 

It's not an accusation, rather a gentle prod. They're sitting at the ops table- they share the captain's chair, now, Murphy slung haphazardly over Bellamy's lap lazily. 

"Didn't think it was a big deal." Murphy shrugged. And it was the truth; he was so much more worried about Bellamy and the past that came back to haunt him, breaking him apart every night- Murphy was always there to put him back together. 

"It's a choice." Bellamy guesses- he makes it sound like a statement, but there's a thin, underlying veil of question there, cautious. "You don't sleep until you have to." 

Murphy shrugs again. "I can avoid 'em, that way." 

_Them-_ the nightmares. Murphy's got his own chip on his shoulder, and it was large. 

"What are they about?" Bellamy bites his lip, hopefully. Murphy sighs, feigning exasperation, nonchalance. 

"The same old shit." Murphy doesn't feel his voice wobble, so he powers on, hoping to get it over with as fast as he can. "The Grounder camp- getting stuck in that bunker, Chris' bunker. Emori, when she was in the City of Light. I was tempted, you know, to take it. But Jaha was scaring me, with his whole zen-master thing."

"And?" Bellamy presses. 

"And-." Fuck, there's the lump in Murphy's throat.

_Ontari._

Her name, sounding more like a curse, blocks up his mouth, and he can't spit it out. It's a deep, dark memory, one that he's pushed around his plate too long. 

"Polis." His voice finally shakes. "O- _Ontari."_ He splutters it out, wanting the name off his tongue. "I don't- I don't know if I wanted it. I'm not sure- I mean, I had to, to live-" 

"Hey." Bellamy soothes. "You don't need to tell me. It's okay." 

Murphy chuckles, but it's humourless. "I think I need to. Just- I can't keep it to myself, forever." 

He takes a deep breath. "She would just- keep me in her chamber. I had- fuck, I had a _collar,_ around my throat, and she could just pull the chain and I'd fall down." 

He looks up at Bellamy, who's got a simmering fire in his eyes, a low fury bubbling in his glare. 

"It was the most degrading thing that's _ever_ happened to me." Murphy finishes, and he's proud to note that he finishes strong, his voice not quavering. "So, yeah." 

Bellamy clutches Murphy around the wrists, gently. Murphy doesn't want to be treated like glass- he never has, never wanted people to walk eggshells around him. 

But tenderness, occasionally... it's nice. It's really nice. 

"I'll never let that happen to you again." Bellamy says, his voice shaking with anger. " _Ever."_

It's a promise. Murphy trusts him to keep it, and he's grateful, oh, how he's grateful for that. 

* * *

_Day 752_

"I will not _touch_ you for a week.”

Bellamy balks, looking at Murphy almost pleadingly. "Not fair." 

"Give me the bottle." Murphy whines. "Or no sex for a week." 

"You've been so good." Bellamy groans. "You haven't touched the still in months." 

"Exactly!" Murphy snaps, crossing his arms childishly. "And now I want some." 

Bellamy's face splits into one of frustration. "Really, no sex for a week?" 

Murphy glares at him. "No sex for _two_ weeks." 

Bellamy scoffs. "As if you could do that." 

Murphy throws his hands up in the air. "I can't believe you hid all the bottles. That was the _only_ one I could find." 

The older man smirks. "That's the point." 

"Give it to me." 

" _No."_

"No sex for _three_ weeks." 

"I don't care!" Bellamy singsongs, running off to hide the bottle. "No sex for a year, if it means keeping the booze away." 

* * *

_Day 752 and a half_

"This doesn't mean I'm giving you the bottle." Bellamy pants into Murphy's mouth, tugging the shirt over Murphy's shoulders insistently. 

"After this, no sex for months." Murphy bites at Bellamy's bottom lip, pressing down _hard._

* * *

_Day 879_

"Home stretch." Bellamy looks over the cryochamber hall, an arm snaked around Murphy's waist, his hand resting comfortably on his hip. 

Murphy sighs. 

"I don't think I'd be here today, if I was alone." He confesses, his eyes flicking from case to case, Emori, then Raven, then Harper- Monty- Clarke- Echo- Octavia-

"Good thing you weren't alone." Bellamy jibes.

"Good thing I wasn't." Murphy breathes. He so nearly could have been, for the three years that are almost up. The mere though of it makes Murphy's windpipe close up, his breathing becoming laboured. 

He could have been _alone._ Just him, some algae, and a constant stream of still. 

"Hey." Bellamy nudges him. "It could've just as easily been me."

"Yeah." Murphy rolls his eyes. "You are _not_ me, and I'm not you." 

Bellamy grins.

"Come on, Murph." He presses his lips to Murphy's cheek. "I'm not really me without you." 

* * *

_Day 965_

"You and I- we'll be the same, after this?" 

_This._ The three years stolen from their sleep, only each other for company. Oh, how they'd become so dependent on one another- Murphy don't think he'd be able to live properly if it _wasn't_ the same.

Bellamy looks nervous, his brown eyes wide and worried. Murphy had always loved those eyes- brown like the fresh peat they'd stepped onto, the tree trunks that swirled high into the clouds, the rocks that lay beside a rushing riverbank, so _free._

"'Course." Murphy says gruffly. "Why wouldn't it be?" 

Bellamy's always been one to overthink, every possible outcome of every possible decision always flitting through his head. Murphy can see the gears turning now, how Bellamy bites his lip and scrunches his freckled nose, ever-so-slightly. Nervous habits, nervous tics. 

"Bellamy." Murphy flicks Bellamy's ear to get his attention. "Don't." 

"I can't help it!" He mumbles, but it sounds like a wail. 

Nervous habits, nervous tics.

Murphy and Bellamy are still MurphyandBellamy, but they're not the same MurphyandBellamy that had stepped off the dropship. 

"I love you." Murphy blurts. "You know that, right?" 

Just as easily as he can see the gears turning in Bellamy's mind, he can see them stop. Bellamy smiling a little now, the faint curve playing at his mouth. 

"I knew." He says. "It's nice to hear it, though." 

Murphy sighs. "I'll say it whenever you want me too, Bellamy Blake." 

They stand by the windowsill, letting the almost green Earth and the millions of endless stars illuminate them. The light is stark, against Bellamy's face, the shadows making his curls inky black but his skin bright, glowing. 

"Say it again." He asks. 

"I love you." 

"Again." 

"I love you." 

Again, again, again. 

* * *

_Day 1095_

"Ready?" Murphy murmurs into Bellamy's ear, quiet, soft. 

Clarke, Raven and Monty's cases are beginning slide out of their compartments, the glass already defrosting. It's the clearest they've seen their friend's faces in three years, still as young as they remember- ten years ago. 

"As I'll ever be." Bellamy smiles- he looks happy, Murphy notes in a daze, smile lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes, dimples inset into his cheeks. 

_Murphy_ makes him happy. 

"You?" Bellamy asks. Murphy nods, but his fingers lace through Bellamy's, a silent confession. 

"I love you." Bellamy says, humour playing at the frays of his words. Murphy smirks.

"Yeah, yeah." He rolls his eyes. "I love you too." 

Clarke's eyes flutter open. 

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on twitter! @505daytime  
> tumblr oliivverwood  
> kudos and comments appreciated!!


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